


Happily Ever After

by jdmusiclover



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 18:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16792636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdmusiclover/pseuds/jdmusiclover
Summary: Emma Swan is excited for the Storybrooke Fall Festival this year.  Not only will she be entering her famous Dutch Apple Pie in the baking contest, she'll also be meeting The Captain, the mysterious stranger she met on the online dating site Happily Ever After.  The only problem?  Her brother David invited his best friend, Killian Jones to join them for the day and Emma can't stand Killian.





	1. Chapter 1

**CS Genre: Rival bakers au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

Emma sprinkled the crumbly topping over the apples and cinnamon in her pie shell, then using her thumb and index fingers, perfectly crimped the dough around the edges. Stepping back she surveyed her creation and nodded in satisfaction.

It was a masterpiece.

Her famous Dutch Apple Pie was sure to win the Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest this year.

Emma chuckled to herself as she set the oven to 375 and then poured herself a cup of coffee as she waited for it to preheat. Imagine her, former bail bonds woman who barely found the time to make instant oatmeal, entering a baking contest!

“Morning Emma. Looks like you’re up and at ‘em early this morning.”

Emma turned to smile at her foster brother, David, as he and his wife, Mary Margaret, emerged from the curtain that separated their bedroom from the rest of the loft’s living area.

“Morning,” Emma said, handing David a cup of coffee. “Hope I didn’t wake you two. I just wanted to give myself plenty of time to finish my pie for the festival.”

“No, you didn’t wake us,” Mary Margaret said, absently rubbing her distended belly. “Your nephew did that all on his own.”

David chuckled. “That little guy’s got quite the kick. Even I could feel it this morning.”

“At least his little feet aren’t aiming directly at your ribcage,” Mary Margaret said with a grimace.

“Well you don’t have too much longer now,” Emma said, soothingly, handing her sister-in-law a mug of decaf. “Your due date’s what? A month away?”

“Thirty-three days to be exact,” Mary Margaret said. “Not that I’m counting down or anything.”

The oven beeped, and Emma slid her pie in and then set the timer before taking a seat at the table. “So what’s the plan for today?”

“The festival starts at one,” David said, “so I told Killian to be here at around noon for lunch, and then we can all head over together.”

Emma groaned. “Killian’s coming with us? Really?”

“Come on, Emma,” David said with a grin. “He’s my best friend. It won’t kill you to spend an afternoon with him, will it?”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

***********

_1 year ago…_

“Emma, are you sure you’re ready for this?” David asked, pacing restlessly in front of her desk in the bullpen as Emma put her gun in her holster and snagged her jacket. “If you want, I’ll take the call. You can ease back into it on something more routine.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “David, you’ve had me on desk duty ever since I started two months ago. If I don’t get back out in the field soon I’m going to go nuts. Besides, this is a routine b & e. I’ll be fine. Stop fussing.”

“Are you sure, though?” David persisted, “your wound…”

“Is healed,” Emma finished for him, walking purposefully toward the door. “Got a clean bill of health from Dr. Whale two weeks ago, if you remember. Look, I’ll be fine, but if it would make you feel better, I promise to call for backup if things get sticky.”

David grumbled but finally stopped protesting, and Emma made her get away before he could change his mind. As she climbed into the patrol car and started the engine, Emma absently rubbed her side, pleased to feel nothing more than a faint twinge.

The “date” that had changed her life had happened eight months before. She’d been using her standard first date trick to catch her latest scum of the earth skip, and all had been going according to plan until he ran. She’d followed him resignedly back to his car, where she’d installed a bright, shiny boot.

She’d used this play a thousand times. Lure the scumbag in with her tight, slinky dress, let him know she was onto him, follow him when he inevitably tried to run, handcuff his worthless ass and toss him in jail. It worked like a charm. 

Until this particular night when her cornered skip pulled out a gun and put a bullet in her side.

After an extended stint in the hospital, Emma’d been left with a bit of a conundrum. She’d still need help during the remainder of her convalescence, and she had no one. No one in Boston cared if she lived or died.

In the end, her foster brother, David, had ridden in like Prince Charming and offered her a solution.

“Come stay with us,” he’d insisted. “I know Storybrooke isn’t as exciting as Boston, but we’d love to help you out while you heal. We’ve got an entire loft bedroom that’s just collecting dust. You’d be doing us a favor.”

“I don’t want to impose…”

“Don’t be silly, Emma,” Mary Margaret said, with a gentle hug, “we’d love to have you. Stay for as long as you want!”

And she had.

Emma thought she’d miss the fast paced life of the city, but to her surprise, she thrived on small-town Storybrooke life. It was refreshing to live in a town where everyone knew everyone else and everyone genuinely cared. Three months after moving into the loft, Emma decided to stay and make Storybrooke her home.

David and Mary Margaret had been overjoyed at her decision, insisting she stay with them at the loft for as long as she wanted, forever wouldn’t be too long as far as they were concerned. David had gotten her a job as his deputy at the sheriff’s station, and everything, for once, seemed to be falling into place.

Which brought her to today, the first day David had consented to her request to go on active duty. It had been a quiet morning, like most mornings in Storybrooke, until they’d gotten the call. Mr. Robert Gold had gotten to his pawn shop that morning to find the door smashed in and the shop trashed.

Emma pulled up to the curb and made her way to the still-open door. The first thing she noticed were the raised voices. The angry, threatening raised voices. Emma pulled her gun as she silently entered the shop.

“Where is it?” a man Emma’d never met demanded in a crisp, clipped British accent. “The shawl. Where is it? Hand it over or I swear I’ll gut you like a fish.”

Emma sprang into action, rushing forward, avoiding the broken glass and overturned display cases as she raised her gun and pointed it at the man who had Mr. Gold pinned to his counter with a…. _was that a fish hook_?...to his throat.

“Drop the weapon!” Emma said. “Drop the weapon and put your hands up!”

The man turned suddenly. “Stay out of this, love,” he growled, face like thunder. “This doesn’t concern you!”

Emma reached into her pocket with her free hand and flashed him her badge. “That’s where you’re wrong, buddy. You’re under arrest. Drop the weapon. I won’t ask again.”

For a moment they were stuck in a stalemate, Emma with her gun trained on the man, him frozen in place with his hook to Gold’s throat, his eyes wild and furious. 

Finally he backed down.

The change was instantaneous. His face cleared, fury replaced by a flirtatious grin. Dropping the hook onto Gold’s counter, he sauntered toward her, moving with the grace of a cat, his gorgeous blue eyes sparkling knowingly as she gasped.

He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with his messy black hair, smattering of scruff, thick chest hair peeking out of his blue button down shirt and black leather coat. For a moment, Emma was frozen, mouth gaping, eyes blown wide.

And then he chuckled, the sound low and sinful, and the spell was broken. Emma shut her mouth, narrowed her eyes, and trained her gun on him. “Hands up, buddy.”

He complied, both hands raised before him as he continued to saunter her way. “Hello beautiful,” he purred, “I don’t believe we’ve met. Killian Jones, at your service.” He bowed smoothly, and she rolled her eyes, holstering her weapon and pulling out her handcuffs.

“Yeah, don’t care,” she said, roughly grabbing his arms and cuffing them behind his back. “You’re coming with me. Now.”

He tossed her a smoldering look over his shoulder. “No need for the violence, darling. I’d go with you wherever you want, though we can certainly make use of the handcuffs.”

He winked at her, a positively indecent gesture that had her heart racing and her breath catching in spite of herself. When he waggled his eyebrows at her, clearly seeing her reaction written across her face, she growled, shoving him toward the door and her cop car.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Emma said through clenched teeth. “How ‘bout you exercise it?”

He’d flirted outrageously with her all the way to the station.

Emma knew guys like him, knew them all too well. Guys who were hot and they knew it. Guys who seemed to think their charm would get them whatever they wanted. Guys who expected women to fall swooning at their feet.

Well it wouldn’t happen with this woman. She’d seen enough scumbags in her day. She wouldn’t fall for this one’s charms, no matter how hot he was. All she had to do was toss his butt in jail, and then she’d never have to see him again.


	2. Chapter 2

**CS Genre: rival bakers/enemies to lovers/secret identity au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

After finishing breakfast, Emma headed back up to her loft bedroom to finish getting ready for the day ahead. Not that she was going to take any special pains with her appearance for the festival. Knowing Killian, he’d probably assume she’d gotten dressed up for him.

He was handsome, for sure, but she wasn’t about to stroke his ego…or anything else about him.

Emma groaned as she gathered up a clean pair of jeans and a white tank and headed for the bathroom David had installed just off her bedroom. Why was it Killian was _always_ around? Yeah, he and David were best friends, but jeez! Their bromance was out of control.

And okay, maybe Killian wasn’t the _worst_ person she’d ever met. He could be genuinely charming and surprisingly helpful when he wanted to be, but just when she felt like maybe she could tolerate him, he’d make some ridiculous, over the top innuendo and she’d remember why it was she loathed the very ground he walked on.

At least she only had to put up with him for the day. She’d endure the afternoon then beat him to a bloody pulp at the baking contest, and then the evening... Well, the evening was for her.

For her and The Captain.

Emma felt a thrill of excitement run through her as she toweled off after her shower, donned her clothes, and tossed on a bit of mascara and blush. Tonight she was going to the masquerade ball with The Captain and it was going to be, quite possibly, the most romantic night of her life. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking like this, but there was no other way to describe it. She’d fallen in love.

Only problem was, she’d never before met the guy.

Not long after moving into the loft with the Nolans, Mary Margaret had started hinting that Emma needed a love life. 

“Emma, I hate to see you spending a Saturday night alone,” Mary Margaret had fussed while putting the finishing touches on her make up in preparation for her date night with David. “I know you haven’t had the best luck with men, but trust me; there’s someone out there for you. Someone who will make you as happy as David makes me.”

Emma looked up from her book and gave her sister in law a skeptical look. “I know you’re all hope and rainbow kisses and unicorn stickers about everything, and that’s great, Mary Margaret, really. I’m happy you and David found each other, but I kind of think you found the last good guy out there.”

Mary Margaret tutted, dropping down onto the chair across from Emma, rubbing her, as yet, almost non-existent baby bump. “That’s ridiculous, Emma,” Mary Margaret said.

“Is it, though?” Emma asked, putting the marker in her book, placing it on the coffee table and facing Mary Margaret. “I’ve tried the whole dating thing a few times, if you’ll recall. I did a stint in jail after Neal framed me for his petty theft, and then Walsh, well you know how that ended. He picked the wrong woman to try to physically assault, that’s for sure, but my experience with both of them taught me an important lesson: A happy ending isn’t in the cards for me. At least a happy ending of the white picket fence, doting husband, perfect couple of kids variety.”

Mary Margaret looked like she was about to cry and Emma mentally kicked herself for being the cause of it. Mary Margaret had had a tough time of it in the last few months with the early stages of pregnancy. Her morning sickness had been off the charts, and her mood swings…well, that woman could cry at the drop of a hat. Luckily, entering her second trimester seemed to have evened things out a little, but she was still a bit more sensitive than normal.

“Don’t worry about me,” Emma said gently. “I’m fine; I promise. Love just isn’t for everyone. I’ve got you and David and in a few months that little bun in your oven to dote over. Besides, I’ve been out of the dating game long enough I wouldn’t even know how to begin.”

“I’m glad you asked!” Mary Margaret said, jumping up, grabbing her phone from the kitchen island and then sitting beside Emma on the couch. “Turns out, I have the _perfect_ solution for you!”

She hadn’t asked, but…maybe it would be easier to just humor her perky sister in law. Emma sighed. “I’m almost certain I’m going to regret this, but what exactly is this perfect solution you’ve got for me?”

Mary Margaret tapped on her phone for a moment, and then turned it so Emma could see. “I heard about it in the teacher’s lounge the other day. It’s this new online dating app. It’s still getting off the ground, but it’s already got rave reviews. Why don’t you try it? Make yourself a profile!”

Emma glanced at the screen. The homepage showed the drawing of a magnificent fairy tale castle, surrounded by roses and flowers and stars. “Happily Ever After” was written across the top in big, curvy letters, the “I” in happily dotted with a heart.

Emma couldn’t have come up with something cheesier if she’d tried. “Really?”

“Okay, I know it’s a little corny, but it works,” Mary Margaret insisted. “Remember Ariel? She teaches biology and coaches the swim team? She met this guy Eric on Happily Ever After, and if I’m not mistaken, wedding bells will soon be pealing for those two. Jasmine Sharin, the social studies teacher, has also been on the site and she has her first date with this cute guy named Aladdin this weekend. They’re both happier than I’ve ever seen them.”

To say Emma remained skeptical was a massive understatement, but she could see how much this meant to Mary Margaret. It was really kind of sweet how much her brother’s wife was invested in her finding happiness.

Emma sighed. “Look, I don’t have high hopes, but if it’d make you happy, I guess I could make a profile.”

Mary Margaret surged forward and exuberantly hugged her. “That’s great, Emma! And who knows; maybe you’ll meet your own Prince Charming on the app. Stranger things have happened!”

Emma rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Alright, alright, I’ve already agreed to try the stupid thing. Get going or you’ll be late meeting David at the restaurant, and I know how crabby he gets when he has to wait on his food.”

With one last hug, Mary Margaret had gotten up, and laughing stepped through the door.

That evening Emma had dutifully installed the Happily Ever After app on her phone and created a profile. There was no way of knowing what kind of crazies might be on the site, so she’d made the decision to keep her info general. No name, no specific location, no outside contact information. 

She’d simply be “The Swan” from Maine. She’d found a photo of a swan to use as her profile photo. Satisfied she’d done what she could, she’d clicked out of the app and gone to bed.

Two days later, Emma’d logged onto Happily Ever After and found, to her surprise, that she had a message in her inbox. Curious, she clicked on the little red blinking envelope at the top of her screen.

The icon that greeted her made her snort with laughter. The guy called himself “The Captain” and his icon was a picture of cartoon Captain Hook, waxed moustache, perm and all. Even more curious now, she perused the short message.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Dear Swan,_

_I’m rather new at this online dating thing so I have no idea what one is meant to write in their opening message. Suffice it to say I found your profile intriguing. I’d like to begin corresponding with you if you’re amenable._

_Sincerely,_

_The Captain._

_~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~_

Emma smiled, kind of liking the oddly formal language. There wasn’t much to learn about the guy from this first message, and for all she knew he was a serial killer, but as long as she kept her “no identifying info” rule in place, there was no reason not to at least shoot him a note back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Dear “The Captain”_

_Nice to “meet” you. And yeah, this is awkward, isn’t it? Lol! So, I should probably tell you right off the bat that I’m super concerned about privacy and all of that. My rule is no identifying information—even name—until we’re both totally comfortable with each other._

_Still, I found your profile interesting too. Just who are you, other than a cartoon villain?_

_The Swan_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And so had begun a beautiful online friendship. “The Captain” had been nothing but a gentleman from the first, agreeing to and scrupulously abiding by her “no info” rule, asking her about her day, offering her advice and consolation when she’d had a bad day, making her laugh, offering her little bits and pieces of his life.

Fact is, though she’d never met the guy in person, still didn’t know what he even looked like, Emma was falling for him. Hard.

A couple weeks ago, Emma was lying awake in her bed smiling like a loon after a two hour chat session with The Captain, and she suddenly realized they’d reached a crossroads. Caution was good and necessary; there were a lot of crazies out there; but caution only took you so far. She and The Captain had been talking for months, but if their relationship was going to progress to something real and lasting, they were going to have to meet.

Emma knew he’d been wanting to meet her for quite some time but he’d left it up to her, let her decide when she was comfortable.

She didn’t know if she’d ever be _comfortable_ , but it was time. It was way past time. So, before she could lose her nerve, she shot him a quick text and then held her breath waiting for his reply.

_**10:35 pm** So, there’s this fall festival thing in a little town in Maine called Storybrooke. It ends with a big masquerade ball in the evening. I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go and meet me there? If you don’t want to, it’s not a big deal, but *shrug* just thought I’d ask._

It had taken him all of fifteen seconds to reply.

_**10:35 pm** Of bloody course I’d like to meet you there! Just tell me when and where._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

And so here it was, the day of the fall festival and masquerade ball. The day she finally met The Captain. The butterflies danced the cha cha in her stomach as she thought about it. What would he be like? Would he like her? Oh gods, how was she going to deal with it if he was disappointed when he met her in person?

For a moment Emma toyed with the idea of texting him and calling the whole thing off, but instead she took a long, deep breath and blew it out slowly.

She was no coward, and she was done letting Neal and Walsh ruin her dating life. Whatever else came of today, she was _going_ to meet The Captain, and she was _going_ to give him a chance. With a determined nod of her head, she picked up her phone, opened the app and shot The Captain a text.

_**11:07 am**_ _Well today is the day! Is it weird that I’m both really excited and really nervous about meeting you in person? Don’t forget; I’ll be wearing the swan mask._

And with that, she tossed her phone in her jeans pocket and headed for the stairs. Time to get this show on the road.


	3. Chapter 3

**CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

Killian took the pan from the stove and slowly drizzled the warm, sticky caramel sauce over his apple harvest cake. He took his time, being sure to hit every “hill and valley” as his mother used to do.

Killian felt a slight pang in his chest at the thought of his mother. It was twenty-five years since she’d passed from a quick and aggressive form of cancer, but he still missed her. Sometimes he still feels like that terrified little seven year old who’d had to say goodbye to his mama far sooner than anyone should ever have to.

Blowing out a deep breath, Killian stepped back and surveyed his creation, pleased with the look and sweet, spicy aroma. The apple harvest cake was an autumn tradition. He had distressingly few memories of his mother, but the one that never failed to put a smile on his face was his memory of his brother, Liam, and him helping his mama make her apple cake.

Like clockwork, every year, as soon as the leaves began to turn, as soon as the first crisp gray day of autumn hit, his mother would invite her boys into the kitchen with her warm, loving smile.

Killian remembered the last time the little family had participated in the yearly ritual. It was a few months before his seventh birthday, only weeks before his mama had gotten sick.

“Autumn has arrived, my lads,” she’d said, barely concealed excitement in her voice; she’d dearly loved the season, “and you know what that means!”

“It’s time to make the cake!” Killian said, jumping up and down. “Can I lick the spoon?”

Mama had laughed, giving her younger son an affectionate one-armed hug and ruffling his thick, black hair. “What do you think, Liam? Should I accede to this little scallywag’s demands?”

Liam had rolled his eyes. He was fourteen years old, and had reached the age when it was no longer cool to hang out with his mama and his baby brother. “I guess you’d better or he’s going to drive us nuts with his pestering.”

“Yay!” Killian had shouted, jumping up and pumping his little fist in the air. In his opinion, Mama was the best cook in the world, and her apple harvest cake was the best dessert of them all.

The following year had been one of the most difficult of Killian’s life following his mother’s death. As their father had long since run off and left the family, Liam and Killian moved in with Mr. Nemo, their kindly next door neighbor. He was a good man, kind and patient to a fault, and the boys were lucky to have him. 

But he wasn’t Mama.

The first day of fall that year Killian had been quite the handful for his new guardian, yelling, acting out, fighting with his older brother, but Nemo hasn’t lost his patience, hadn’t punished. He was wiser than anyone Killian had ever known, understanding instinctively that his young charge’s behavior was a result of the grief he felt for his mother.

Without a word, Nemo, who well knew the Jones family tradition, had gathered up the ingredients needed to make the apple cake and helped the boys bake their favorite dessert.

And so the autumn tradition had survived and thrived.

That is until ten years back when Liam had died in a naval training exercise. The grief Killian had felt at losing his big brother, his hero, his rock through the rough childhood years as an orphan, knew no bounds. For the first time in his twenty-two years of life, he failed to make the harvest apple cake, the pain of doing so, knowing not only his mother but his brother were gone, was too sharp, too deep and too new.

But life goes on, even after tragedy. It took several years, but finally four years ago, he’d tried his hand at baking again. His apple harvest cake had been an instant success among his friends and acquaintances, everyone raving about it.

And so the tradition went on, changed from its original meaning, but no less impactful.

When Mayor Regina Mills decided this year’s Fall Festival would involve an apple baking contest, it was a no brainer what Killian would enter.

“Mama, Liam, this is for you,” Killian murmured, as he set the cake aside and sat on the sofa in his living room as he waited for the icing to harden. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket then swiped and tapped at it until he’d opened the Happily Ever After app. His stomach swooped as he saw the blinking envelope at the top of the page, indicating he had a new message. 

Wasting no time, he clicked on the icon, opening the message.

_Hey captain! Hope you’re having a great morning. Is it weird that I’m both really excited and really nervous about meeting you tonight? The Swan._

Killian grinned, tapping out his reply.

_Not weird at all love. I feel quite the same. I look forward to finally making your acquaintance. Until tonight, I remain your faithful servant, The Captain._

The moment of truth was only a matter of hours away, the moment when he would officially meet the mysterious woman he’d been communicating with for months.

The thing was…she was not nearly as much of a mystery to him as she believed. Someone named The Swan who lived in a small town in Maine? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who _that_ profile belonged to.

Killian chuckled to himself as he thought about his first meeting with Emma.

He’d stormed into Mr. Robert Gold’s pawn shop on that fateful day, after his coworker at the Storybrooke marina, William Smee, mentioned in passing that he’d seen a certain, very distinctive tan colored shawl in the pawn shop.

“Strangest thing,” Smee had said, dipping a sponge into a bucket of soapy water and then applying it to the side of one of the boats currently moored at the dock. “It had to be one of the ugliest shawl’s I’ve ever seen, full of snags and missed stitches.”

Killian felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. He knew that shawl; knew it well. His love, his Milah had knitted it long, long ago. It had been the first—and the last—knitting project she’d ever tried. She found knitting to be dull and boring. No wonder. A woman as vibrant and full of life as his Milah needed active pursuits.

The anger had come then, swift and white hot. Full of life. Milah _should_ be full of life, and she would be if that bastard Robert Gold hadn’t as good as murdered her.

“No idea why it would be on display. If that was my shop, I’d take it out back and burn it,” Smee had continued, completely unaware of his coworker’s rapidly souring mood.

“I’ll thank you to keep your ignorant opinions to yourself, Mr. Smee,” Killian had bit out, hands balled up into fists.

Smee gave him a quick, startled look, before dropping his eyes and shrugging his shoulders. “No offense meant, Cap’n.”

Killian had walked away without looking back. He’d be damned if he let Gold display Milah’s work like that, like some unimportant piece of merchandise.

Even now, years later, Killian still felt a pang when he thought of Milah, his beautiful, wild, unpredictable first love.

Their romance had begun under inauspicious circumstances, of course. She’d been married to Gold when they’d met. Despite some qualms of conscience, Killian had agreed to their passionate affair after Milah told him how very unhappy she was with her manipulative husband. Their love had caught quickly, like a struck match, but like a match, it had been extinguished far too quickly.

Six months after their affair had begun, Milah decided to leave her husband officially. It had been a disastrous decision. When she’d told Gold she was leaving him, he’d flown into a fury such that Milah’d never seen. It had frightened her, and she’d fled their home, emotions running rampant. Her over-wroght emotional state had led to a horrific car accident that snuffed out her life far too soon.

Gold may not have physically murdered Milah, but Killian blamed him for her death all the same.

And so, when Smee told him of Gold selling Milah’s shawl, he’d flown into a blind rage, confronting the perfidious shop keeper with all the pent up anger and pain he felt over his love’s death. Things had quickly gotten out of hand, and before he knew it, he was holding a hook to the man’s throat.

And that’s when he’d met the lovely Emma Swan for the first time. When she’d finally pierced through his haze of murderous anger, the connection had been immediate. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before.

She was beautiful, aye, as gorgeous as any woman he’d ever seen, with her flowing golden hair, her flashing green eyes, her lithe, trim figure, but it was so much more than that. Something about her called out to him. She was his kindred spirit, and he knew right away his life after meeting her would never be the same.

He'd flirted with her outrageously, scandalously, all the way to the sheriff’s station, and she’d shot him a look that could have curdled milk.

They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, to be sure, but the lass wasn’t entirely immune to him. That much was more than clear. Some of the looks she’d covertly sent him when she thought he wasn’t looking spoke of her attraction better than any words ever could.

But Killian saw something else in the lovely Swan’s eyes as well—the suspicion of one who’d been hurt far too many times and had since built a wall around her heart. He wanted to scale that wall, take it down brick by brick, show her that there was at least one man in this world whose heart was true, one man who loved with every fiber of his being, one man who would go to the end of the world or time for her.

As he laid on the jail bunk, glancing up at the dirty ceiling, he’d vowed then and there that he _would_ win her heart.

If only he could finagle a way to see her again.

Fate may be a fickle mistress, but for once in his life, her caprices worked to his advantage.

He’d been mulling over ways to meet Emma again as he climbed the steps to his mate Dave’s flat for a party he was throwing, when who should answer his knock but the woman of his dreams herself. 

His heart stuttered and then began racing as he looked into her eyes. She, for her part, had frozen, eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open.

But her shock had lasted for no more than a moment before she slammed her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” she’d asked, arms crossing in an unmistakably unwelcoming stance.

“Why Swan,” he’d swaggered, “fancy meeting you here! As it happens, I’ve been invited to Dave’s dinner party.”

The man himself stepped up behind Emma, and she turned on him. “ _This_ is the friend you told me about? This…this…”

“Dashing rapscallion?” Killian offered with a smirk. “Scoundrel?”

If anything her glare deepened as she turned back to him. “I was going to go with something closer to ‘criminal son of a bitch’ myself.”

From behind her, David rolled his eyes, opening the door wider and gesturing for Killian to enter. Killian did so, making a point to brush against Emma as he walked past.

“I see you two have already met,” David said, deadpan.

Things with Emma had only gone downhill from there. They say first impressions are hard to overcome, and never was the saying truer than when it came to Emma. She wouldn’t give him the time of day—no matter how much he tried to apologize for his earlier indiscretions.

It would have been beyond disappointing if it hadn’t been for one unexpected event: the new match Killian had received on the dating app Happily Ever After.

He’d been on the app for nearly a year after Mary Margaret, David’s wife, had encouraged him to try to move on, be happy. He’d created a profile to appease his mate’s insistent wife, but his heart hadn’t been in it. He figured one great love was all any man could reasonably hope for. He’d had his with Milah, and now his heart was irrevocably broken.

But when he’d been sent the profile of a woman simply calling herself “The Swan”, well, there were only so many things that could reasonably be considered a coincidence.

By the time he’d finished reading her profile, there was no doubt in his mind. The Swan was none other than the beautiful but prickly Emma. He’d grinned, considering shooting her a flirtatious email, letting her know that even the Happily Ever After powers that be knew they were meant for each other, but then a new idea occurred to him.

Perhaps this silly dating app was an opportunity to show Swan the REAL him, to get to know her without the barrier of her suspicions.

And so Killian had sent her a simple, friendly email, careful to keep any reference to his true identity under wraps. She’d written back the very next day, and so a correspondence straight out of a cheesy Hallmark movie had been born.

They’d corresponded for months, talking about anything and everything—save for anything that would identify them. Upon that, she’d been totally implacable. And as the months went on, Killian had fallen ever deeper in love with Emma. It was a love stronger than he’d even known was possible.

And in due course, Killian came to decide that their current situation, pleasant as it was, wasn’t enough for him. It wasn’t _nearly_ enough for him.

He’d been mulling over the best way to take their relationship to the next level—actually meeting face to face—when Swan had solved the conundrum for him. She’d asked him to meet her at the Storybrooke Fall Festival masquerade ball. He couldn’t have asked for a better solution!

Killian looked down at his watch, noting that it was time to make his way over to David and Mary Margaret’s house, his nervous anticipation at finally being able to reveal the truth buzzing just below his skin. 

Tonight was shaping up to be one of the most consequential of his life, but one question still remained: how would Swan react when she discovered he was The Captain?


	4. Chapter 4

**CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

The Storybrooke Fall Festival was a tradition that went back to the town’s founding several decades before. It was small town Americana at its best. Killian looked forward to the festival every year, but never before had he looked forward to it with more anticipation than he did today.

Today was the day he put himself out there and let Emma know exactly where he stood. He could only pray she reacted favorably when she learned of his feelings for her; when she learned that he was her mystery online correspondent.

He figured his odds were about fifty fifty either way. He _knew_ she felt something for him, and that something wasn’t absolute revulsion like she seemed to want to make him believe. At the same time…the wounds of her past still festered. He didn’t need to know their details to know they existed. She had the look of one who’d been left alone too much and who was afraid to put herself out there again.

If she’d let him, he’d love her for eternity.

The strength and conviction of the sentiment shocked him. After Milah, he’d been so sure he’d never love again, and certainly never so deeply, but Emma…Emma was special. He’d never experienced emotions like these before, like she was his world, and if anything happened to her, he couldn’t go on.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Emma asked concern-laced annoyance dripping from her voice.

He startled, unaware he’d been staring. “Pardon?” he asked, reaching up to scratch behind his ear, “Like what, Swan?”

“If you look at me any harder, you’re going to drill a hole in my head,” she said, brow furrowing.

“I…I apologize,” he said, feeling his face warm.

They’d begun the day as a foursome, Dave, Mary Margaret, Emma and himself. After a delectable lunch—Dave’s wife was a marvel in the kitchen—they’d walked the two blocks to the Storybrooke town square where the festivities were to kick off. They’d visited various booths where Storybrooke residents were pedaling their fall themed wares, and then they’d taken a hayride to Peter’s Pumpkin farm, where David and Mary Margaret had purchased two large pumpkins and an assortment of gourds and decorative corn cobs that they hoped to use to make their residence festive for the season.

But after the hayride, they’d naturally separated off into couples. Mary Margaret, exhausted due to her far advanced pregnancy had stated her need to rest, and David had opted to stay with his wife. As Emma wasn’t ready to be sidelined yet, she’d stated her plan to continue wandering through the festival. Reveling in the prospect of some time alone with his lady love, Killian had offered to accompany her.

She’d heaved a long suffering sigh, but she hadn’t objected, and Killian rather counted that as a win.

“An apology? You know, you’re really starting to freak me out, Killian,” Emma said, shooting him a skeptical look. “You’re being…a gentleman. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

Killian smirked. “I’m always a gentleman, darling, and yes. I’m quite well.”

They walked past a booth manned by Zelena Mills, the mayor’s eccentric sister. She’d insisted on dressing as the Wicked Witch of the West, complete with green face and body paint. Her “booth” was a haunted house that she’d insisted contain nothing but evil flying monkeys. 

“I mean,” Emma continued, side-eyeing him, “you haven’t used a single innuendo all day. No outrageous one liners, no hitting on me, no leers, none of that, that…indecent thing you do with your tongue. What gives?”

Killian grinned. “Why Swan, I had no idea you paid so much attention to my tongue.”

She heaved another sigh, though a smile covered her lips. “There he is,” she said on a laugh. “There’s the man I know and l…er…tolerate.”

Killian’s heart stuttered and then raced at her slip of the tongue. Emma, clearly realizing what she’d _almost_ said, turned away quickly and headed toward Granny Lucas’s booth. “Um…I think I’m going to get myself a hot cocoa before we have to head over to the baking contest. He contemplated following her, taking advantage of the slight softening she was evidently starting to feel toward him, but in the end, he chose to stay where he was, waiting for her to return with her beverage.

As he watched her walk away, a nearly forgotten song his mother used to sing came to mind, and he softly sung as he watched her graceful movements toward Granny’s booth.

_She stepped away from me_

_And she moved through the Fair_

_And fondly I watched her_

_Move here and move there_

_And she went her way homeward_

_With one star awake_

_As the swans in the evening_

_Move over the lake_

He watched her talk and laugh with neighbors and friends, and a yearning so strong, so complete it was nearly a physical ache came over him. She was so beautiful, so vibrant, so full of life. She was a strong woman who he had no doubt could do absolutely anything she put her mind to. What if today’s venture was a failure? What if she rejected him?

His painful thoughts were interrupted by the woman herself as she returned to him carrying not one but two covered paper cups. She refused to look at him as she reached the park bench where he’d settled. Thrusting out her left hand, she handed him one of the cups.

“Here,” she said, eyes shifting to the side. “Don’t make a big deal of this, okay? It’s just that you look cold. I thought you could use some cocoa too. Hope you don’t mind; I had Granny put cinnamon on both of them.”

Killian jumped to his feet, took the proffered cup, and then gestured for her to take a seat on the bench before he resumed his own seat. “My thanks, Swan,” he said, awe in his voice, “I’ve no doubt the cocoa will be lovely with the addition of cinnamon.”

“It really is, though, and I’ve never found _anyone_ but Mary Margaret who uses it,” Emma said before taking a sip of the fragrant liquid.

They drank their cocoa largely in silence, watching as town residents walked by. Storybrooke had its fair share of eccentric characters—from Cruella Feinburg with her five dalmations on leashes in one dramatically manicured hand, to Marco who’d fashioned himself a puppet and insisted it was a real boy, to the woman residents referred to merely as the blind witch—who had such a sweet tooth, she’d once insisted on building herself a life-sized gingerbread house.

It was pleasant simply sitting and enjoying the day with Swan. Their silence was comfortable, friendly.

But time inevitably marches on. Far sooner than Killian would have liked, Emma drained the last of her cocoa, tossed the cup in the trash bin next to the bench, and then reminded him that the main event of the day was about to begin: the Apple Baking Contest.

“Well,” Emma said with a teasing grin, “guess it’s about time I wipe the floor with you at this baking contest.”

He returned her grin, getting to his feet and walking in step with her toward the gazebo where the judging was to take place. “You are certainly welcome to try, darling, but I’m afraid you have no chance of defeating me and my apple cake.”

She laughed. “I guess we’ll just see about that.”

“Shall we place a friendly wager it?” he suggested, inspiration suddenly striking.

“What are the stakes?” Emma asked, looking at him warily as they arrived at the gazebo and took their places—next to each other—behind their entries.

He looked up dramatically as though deep in thought. “If I win,” he lowered his head, looked up at her through hooded eyes and tapped his lips, “a kiss.”

Her cheeks flared and she shook her head, the beginnings of a grin on her lips. “Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

He swaggered into her space. “Perhaps _you’re_ the one who couldn’t handle it.” He deliberately emphasized the “t” on the end.

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Alright, Romeo. Say I agree to this bet; what do I get _when_ I win?”

“Quite confident, aren’t we?”

She shrugged. “I make a mean Dutch apple pie.”

Killian grinned, enjoying the banter. Flirting with a receptive Emma Swan was _fun_. “I shall allow you to set whatever terms you like in the infinitesimally small chance that I lose to you. I’ll abide by the forfeit you set me.”

“ _Whatever_ terms I want?” Emma asked? “Oh this could be fun.”

He winked at her, an action, he noted, that made the delightful blush across her cheeks deepen further. “I’ve no doubt it could be very fun indeed.”

She laughed, shoving him playfully. “You are ridiculous.”

“That I am. So do we have an accord?”

“We do. It is _so_ on,” she said, offering her hand for a handshake to seal the deal. Instead, he brought her hand to his lips. He couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction on her part than her quick intake of breath.

Their eyes met, and it was as though a bolt of electricity went through them. It would be so easy to pull her closer by the hand he still held, lower his head and gently mold his lips to hers. He began leaning down and she tilted her head up, no hint of reluctance in her demeanor. They moved yet closer…

“Good afternoon everyone!” Came the booming voice of Leroy Little, one of the judges and the MC for the baking contest. “The first annual apple baking contest is about to begin!”

Emma jumped, turning away from him so swiftly she only narrowly avoided knocking her pie off the red and white checked table cloth and onto the gazebo floor.

Though not normally a violent person, in that moment, Killian could have throttled the resident town curmudgeon.

This year there were five contestants vying for the coveted blue ribbon that proclaimed them the town apple baking champion—Emma with her Dutch apple pie, Killian with his harvest apple cake, Regina with her apple turnovers, Zelena with her green apple crisp, and the town pharmacist, Tom Clark with his caramel apple tarte. The items were to be judged by the aforementioned Leroy Little, Granny Lucas, owner of the town’s one diner, and Dr. Archie Hopper, town psychologist.

Killian waited in nervous anticipation as the judges went down the row taking a bite of each of the entries, chewing thoughtfully, making notations on their clipboards. After sampling each of the desserts, the judges retired to their own table on the far side of the gazebo and put their heads together in whispered conversation.

It seemed like it took an inordinately long amount of time for their verdict to be reached, but in due course, Killian saw Leroy nod decisively, get to his feet, and make his way to the microphone near the steps of the gazebo.

This was it.

“I have to say, this was not an easy decision to make,” he said, “but in the end no contest is complete without a winner, so without further ado….The winner of the first annual Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest is…”


	5. Chapter 5

**CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

“So without further ado….The winner of the first annual Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest is…”

Emma waited with baited breath, surprised at how very nervous she was. This contest meant a lot; more than she was willing to admit, even to herself. If she lost, well, it would feel like she was letting Ingrid down. She was the _one_ foster mother she’d had who actually gave a damn about her—at least until Ruth and Robert adopted her. Emma had adored her, believing that she would finally have a forever home. One of the best childhood memories Emma had was making the Dutch apple pie with Ingrid for Thanksgiving the first year she lived with her. It had been a day full of fun…and messes…and laughter…and some of the best apple pie Emma had ever eaten.

But things were not meant to be. In the third year Emma was with Ingrid, her guardian died suddenly, and Emma was plunged back into the system.. 

She took a deep breath, letting it out. Now was not the time to dwell on the painful past. Emma hadn’t told a single soul about her reasons for entering the pie in the contest, but in her mind it was clear. By winning the contest, she would honor the first person to ever make her feel like she mattered.

The time dragged on, Leroy clearly enjoying all the people hanging on his every word. He was milking this for all he was worth.

“If he doesn’t announce the winner soon,” Killian whispered to her, “I’m going to take this spatula and shove it right up his dramatic arse.”

Emma barked a laugh, and Leroy shot her a dirty look.

“As I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted…” Leroy said.

Emma rolled her eyes.

“The winner of the first annual Storybrooke Fall Festival Apple Baking Contest is….Mayor Regina Mills!”

There was a smattering of polite applause as Regina stepped forward and accepted the blue ribbon and then placed it on her shirt. Emma felt a stab of disappointment. 

Disappointment that she didn’t win, of course, but also—and this made _no_ sense to her—a little disappointment that Killian hadn’t won. Their bet was silly, but if she was honest, part of her wanted to find out if his kisses lived up to his self-proclaimed hype.

Beside her, Killian sighed, and then shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose there’s no accounting for taste. Shall we transfer our bet to the winner of second place?”

Emma felt her heart rate pick up at the possibility she would still get to…er… _have to_ …kiss Killian, but this was a day of celebration, so why not? “You’re on!”

“Second place goes to…” Leroy continued, “believe it or not, we have a tie for second place. Second place goes to Emma Swan and Killian Jones!”

Emma was _not_ disappointed to have once again dodged a bullet by _not_ losing to Killian.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

One of the perks of entering the apple baking contest was the free food. As the judges had consumed less than a slice of each of the desserts, the rest was offered to the contestants themselves. Contest organizers divvying up the apple dishes so that each contestant got a taste.

Emma and Killian took their loaded paper plates full of apple goodness to a nearby picnic table. For several minutes they sat in silence, Emma enjoying the sweet and spicy flavors of apples and cinnamon on her tongue.

“I must say, Swan,” Killian said, after patting his mouth with his napkin and washing his dessert down with a swig from his water bottle, “I call shenanigans.

Emma laughed. “Shenanigans? Killian who even talks like that?”

“People with large vocabularies and even larger brains,” he said, nodding sagely.

“That’s not the only thing about you that’s big,” she muttered.

He gave her a wicked grin. “Why Swan, however would you know about my…assets? Imagining the _mast_ on my Jolly Roger, are we?”

Emma’s face flamed, and she covered it with her face. “Oh my gods, that’s not what I meant!” She said. “Your ego. I was saying you had a big ego, not…wait, did you just use a ship metaphor for your…? Who even _are_ you?”

He laughed again. “Well at any rate,” Killian said, “before I was interrupted by your filthy mind, darling….”

Emma grinned and rolled her eyes. She hated to admit it, but their playful banter was kind of fun.

“Shenanigans,” Emma said. “I think you were talking about shenanigans.”

“Right you are,” Killian said with another nod. “After tasting our offerings, I call shenanigans. Mayor Mills’ apple turnover was perfectly adequate, but it didn’t hold a candle to either your pie or my cake.”

“You know, for once, you’re right,” Emma said, laughing, when he gasped and dramatically clutched his heart. “I’m thinking contest meddling. Definite contest meddling. I’d demand a recount, except there were only 3 votes, so it’s kind of hard to miscount those.”

“You never can tell,” Killian said in mock seriousness. “You know what I think happened? I think the game was rigged. As both the mayor and the sponsor of the contest, Regina was never _not_ going to win.”

Emma nodded. “Of course she was going to win. Can you imagine what would happen if she didn’t? That woman can go all ‘evil queen’ on everyone faster than I can say shenanigans. I say we ignore the results and just declare ourselves co-winners.”

“Indeed,” Killian said, “good form demands it.”

Emma laughed, but then sobered, a sudden idea striking her. She was having one of the best afternoons of her life, and she felt good, and it had been a while… 

Or maybe she was just curious.

Before she could think better of it, she leaned across the table and planted a quick kiss on his scruffy cheek, just to the side of his mouth, before pulling back and resuming her dessert.

Killian looked stunned, eyes blown wide, color staining his cheeks, his hand coming up to cover the spot her lips had touched. “I’m far from complaining, darling, but to what do I owe the honor?”

Emma shrugged. “Good form, as you call it,” she said simply. “If we both won, that means I owed you a kiss. And you owe me…well, I haven’t decided what you owe me yet. Let’s just say you owe me a favor.”

“One that I’ll gladly pay if the cost is as pleasant as that.”

Emma laughed. “I’m going to make it good.”

“I shall count on that.”

“Besides,” Emma said, taking another bite, “win, lose or draw, I have to admit your cake was awesome.”

Killian sighed dramatically and then tapped his lips again, “But not ‘awesome’ enough, it would seem, to merit the kind of kiss for which I truly longed.”

Emma smirked. “Keep baking like that, and you never know what might happen.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma and Killian stayed to talk (flirt?) for another half an hour before they went their separate ways. Emma slowly headed back to the loft to prepare for the masquerade ball that would begin in just over an hour.

To say the day had been different from what she’d expected was a _major_ understatement. She’d actually had fun spending the day with Killian. There was no question; she’d misjudged him.

Emma put on her white dress—sleeveless, fitted through the bodice, with a full skirt covered in layer after layer of feathers—and then sat down to touch up her eye makeup, making it more dramatic for evening. 

On the nearby nightstand, her phone buzzed.

She swiped at the device, feeling an odd mixture of joy, anticipation and guilt when she saw she had a text from The Captain.

_The Captain: Swan, I can’t wait to see you tonight. :-)_

She quickly typed back.

_The Swan: Same._

Her phone was still for several moments before it vibrated again.

_The Captain: Swan? Is anything the matter? You’re normally far more loquatious than this._

How to answer that? Was anything the matter? She hardly even knew herself. What kind of a person was she? She’d spent an entire day talking, flirting and enjoying the company of Killian, and through it all, she’d almost forgotten The Captain even existed. Who _did_ something like that? This man was the man of her dreams, wasn’t he? She’d fallen for him and fallen for him hard over the months they’d been talking. _He_ was the one she should have been flirting with. _He_ was the one she should be daydreaming about while she applied eye shadow and mascara. Not Killian.

What had even _happened_ to her today? Killian was….Killian. Yeah, maybe he was less of a womanizing ass than she’d thought previously, but come on! She’d had reasons for keeping her distance, hadn’t she?

So why the hell had she been fantasizing about kissing Killian— _really_ kissing him—when she heard her phone vibrate? He would be a good kisser, lips soft but firm. He’d follow her lead, but he’d eagerly open for her the moment she signaled that she wanted to deepen the kiss. It would go on and on….

Emma growled, falling on her back on the bed, bouncing a bit as she hit the duvet. She was a total mess. She had chemistry with Killian; there was no denying it, the man was basically sex on legs, but that’s all it was. Chemistry. What she had already with The Captain was real and lasting and beautiful.

She was _not_ going to ruin her big night with him by thinking about her brother’s idiot best friend. Sitting up she deliberately grabbed her phone and typed her response.

_The Swan: Not at all. I’m just a little nervous about us finally meeting. I can’t wait; really, but this is something I’ve never done before._

_The Swan: Listen, I’ve got to go for now; got to finish getting ready. I’ll see you soon!_

_The Captain: I can’t wait either. I shall await you by the gazebo, as we planned, Swan._

Tonight was going to be one of the biggest nights of her life. It was time she put Killian from her mind; he was _not_ going to invade her night with The Captain—even if that invasion was only through her thoughts.


	6. Chapter 6

**CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

Killian took a deep breath and looked himself over in the mirror. Tight leather pants, billowy black shirt, unbuttoned to a low vee, leather vest with ornate silver buckles and clasps, long, heavy black leather coat, fake sword in a scabbard, generous application of guyliner, hair artfully disheveled.

Aye, that would do. He looked like a pirate if ever anyone did. He grabbed the last item of his attire, a large, leather masquerade mask that obscured a fair portion of his face. His hands shook as he donned the mask, the nerves starting to get the better of him.

When he’d first begun his correspondence with Swan, it had seemed like a brilliant idea. The problem was, now he had no idea how she would react when she realized who her mystery correspondent was. In his head, he’d concocted scenarios ranging from her telling him she was hoping it would be him and then kissing the daylights out of him all the way to her rolling her eyes and telling him to get lost.

He felt like a young lad psyching himself up to ask his first crush to the school dance. What would he do if her reaction wasn’t favorable?

“You look like crap, my friend,” came the ever helpful voice of Dave as he knocked on Killian’s apartment door and then let himself in without waiting for a response.

Killian chuckled. “Not precisely the reaction I was going for. I am, after all meeting a date for the first time tonight.”

David laughed, and clapped him on the shoulder. “You know what I mean. You look like you could toss your cookies at any moment. Breathe, Killian. Emma can be a little gun shy after her bad romantic experiences, but in the end, she’s going to be glad it’s you.”

Killian whipped his head around, giving his friend a wide eyed stare. “How do you know my date is Emma?”

“Why do you think Mary Margaret and I were so insistent the two of you join Happily Ever After?” David said with a grin. “We’ve been trying to find a way to get you and my sister together since the moment she came to stay with us, and when you almost ruined it with your ‘revenge is gonna be mine’ moment at Gold’s, we had to improvise.”

Well _that_ was unexpected. David was as protective of his little sister as a father, and Killian had been a little apprehensive of his reaction should things go well tonight. Instead, he was more than giving his blessing; he was matchmaking.

“But how did you know we’d even find each other on that silly site?” Killian continued.

David shrugged, helping himself to a beer from Killian’s refrigerator and then sitting on his couch. “We didn’t. We just had to leave that up to cupid. When Emma told Mary Margaret she was communicating with a guy named ‘The Captain’, we knew our devious scheme had worked.”

Killian collapsed onto the other side of the couch. “So you and Mary Margaret are on board?”

“We couldn’t be happier,” David said after taking a swig from his bottle. “Emma deserves happiness, Killian, and so do you, and to think you’re going to find that happiness together…well, that’s like a fairy tale.”

Killian reached up and scratched behind his ear. “I’m not at all certain of that. Perhaps when your lovely sister discovers who her secret admirer is she’ll be…less inclined toward happiness.”

“Killian, she’s head over heels for The Captain,” David said confidently, “and whatever she says, I know her well enough to know she had feelings for you as well. The revelation may be a shock, and it may take her a bit of time to wrap her head around it, but she will come around. I’m making my prediction now. In three, four years tops, you two will be right where Mary Margaret and I are now—in love, married, and ready to welcome a new little son or daughter into your lives.”

The prospect was more than Killian could ever hope for. “I hope you’re right, mate. I really, really hope you’re right.”

“I am,” David said with a nod. “Now go out there and get the girl.”

***

Killian looked at his watch for the fifth time in the last two minutes as he stood by the gazebo waiting for the moment of truth. Not for the first time, Killian wondered if Emma would actually show, but before he could finish the thought, he saw her emerge from the main road and head his way.

She was an angel, beautiful, ethereal, graceful in her feathered white dress, her silky white wrap around her shoulders to guard against the autumn chill, and her golden hair flowing loose down her back.. Killian felt his eyes mist slightly when it occurred to him that she looked like a bride walking down the aisle to him. If he had his way, he would make that a reality one day.

But for now he merely waited, as calmly as he could manage, for her to arrive before him. She shot him a nervous smile as she approached. He could see her excitement in the rosy hue of her cheeks, but he could also see caution, apprehension, nervousness.

His heart plummeted for a moment. A part of him hoped she’d already put the pieces together and figured out who he was, but her reaction made it clear that she hadn’t.

But his disappointment lasted barely a moment before her beauty, her scent of vanilla and cinnamon, her gentle smile, overwhelmed him, and he let his awe and wonder show on his face.

“Swan,” he breathed on a sigh, “at last.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Killian?” she asked, “ _You’re_ The Captain?”

Killian smiled nervously and gave his head a single quick nod. “Aye, in the flesh.”

For a moment she merely stared up at him, slack-jawed, but then her mouth tightened, and her eyes narrowed.

“How _could_ you?” she ground out before stepping forward and kneeing him in the groin so hard he fell to the ground seeing stars.

“Swan!” he croaked, “let me explain!”

But it was too late. She was already storming away from him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma nearly ran from the gazebo, angry tears she couldn’t stop welling in her eyes, a few slipping down her cheeks. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe she’d been duped so thoroughly yet again. What kind of sick person _did_ something like that? What kind of sick person made someone else fall for them while all the time trying simply to humiliate them? Was this payback for her arresting him and throwing him in jail? Payback for the fact that she wouldn’t give him the time of day after that? Why would Killian _do_ something like this?

She was angry with Mary Margaret for talking her into joining that stupid dating site, angry with Killian for playing her, and most of all, angry with herself for letting her walls down and letting the pain in yet again.

When would she ever learn? Love just wasn’t in the cards for someone like her.

_Are you sure he was playing you?,_ Emma’s inner voice, which sounded strangely like Mary Margaret, asked. _Are you sure there’s not some other explanation?_

She didn’t know what that explanation could be, and she wasn’t about to open herself up to more pain, to more false hope, by giving him the benefit of the doubt. She was done. She hoped she never saw Killian Jones again.

“Swan, please! Let me explain,” she heard from behind her.

So much for that hope.

“There’s nothing to explain,” she said, abruptly turning and watching him rush toward her, limping slightly. “You thought it would be funny to watch the cold, mistrustful sheriff’s deputy fall in love with you and then pull the rug out from under her feet.”

He reached her, extending a hand as though to touch her shoulder, but she shied away. He let his hand drop back to his side, his shoulders hunching. “Is that what you think this is, Emma?”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Emma asked, crossing her arms protectively around her. “You wanted to see me upset? Wanted to see me broken? Well guess what, buddy. You don’t get that satisfaction.”

Her defiant statement was somewhat belied by the tear tracks still on her face.

He looked up at her with unmistakable tenderness, and despite her best efforts, the top bricks of her newly constructed wall crashed down around her. “Swan, I know I was wrong in the way I approached you, but I swear to you on my life that I never wanted to hurt you, that I never want to cause you pain.”

Emma laughed humorlessly. “Yeah, good job on that.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” he pleaded. “If you wish nothing more to do with me afterwards, I will abide by your wishes, but please at least hear me out.”

She was silent for a moment, considering.

“Alright,” she said finally, “I’ll listen, but let me tell you a little secret. I’m pretty good at knowing when someone’s lying to me.”

“I’ll never lie to you,” he said, and the sincerity ringing in his voice was unmistakable.

“Alright, so go ahead,” Emma said, “you knew who I was didn’t you? I’d love to hear a decent explanation for why you didn’t tell me the truth about yourself.”

“Because I was afraid!” Killian said simply, voice raised slightly. He took a deep breath and let it out, closing his eyes to calm himself before he looked back at her again. “Emma, I knew there was the potential for something special between us from the first moment I saw you, holding a gun on me in Gold’s shop. I felt the electricity between us, the knowledge that you were a kindred spirit. I wanted to get to know you and for you to get to know me—not the criminal you first met, not the player you clearly thought I was, but me.”

“Would have helped if every other word out of your mouth wasn’t an innuendo,” Emma said with a raised brow.

Killian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right. I suppose the innuendo was a bit of a defense mechanism. You’re not the only one who feels the need to construct walls, love. “

“Okay, so you wanted to get to know me,” Emma said, “still doesn’t explain why you’d let me believe you were someone else online.”

“I wasn’t the one who insisted on no identifying information, if you’ll recall, Swan.”

She glared at him. “So this is _my_ fault?”

He made a frustrated sound at the back of his throat. “No! It’s just…Swan, I swear I didn’t know who you were when I first contacted The Swan, but identifying information or not, you’re rather an open book to me. It took less than a day for me to realize just who my secret correspondent was.”

“At which point, you should have just told me who you were,” Emma said.

“Aye, I should have,” Killian agreed, “but I couldn’t bring myself to. I just….I thought I could show you the real me, who I really am, aside from the bad first impression you got. I thought maybe if you got to know me as The Captain, you would soften toward me as Killian as well and we could, perhaps, start over.”

Emma looked into his eyes, looking for the lie, looking for the signs that he was still playing her, that this was still part of his sick, twisted joke, but she didn’t see it. If he was lying to her, he deserved an Oscar for being the best actor in the world. “All those things you said as The Captain…all those times you told me that you were falling for me, that you thought we could build something special between us…?”

Killian took a step toward her, and Emma chose not to shy away. Emboldened, he took her upper arms, caressing her slightly with his thumbs. “I meant every bloody word,” he said.

Emma’s heart turned over at his intensity. Still, she had to know. “Why? Why would you bother? I didn’t exactly give you encouragement.”

He grinned, and it was his old, familiar flirtatious smirk. “Most men would take your behavior as off-putting, but I love a challenge.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning in spite of herself.

Killian sobered. “And you are worth it, Emma. Whatever I need to do to prove myself to you, you are worth it.”

Emma’s face softened, and she felt the tears rush to her eyes again, this time for a very different reason. He really believed that.

“The first time we met,” he said, turning from her and looking sightlessly at the lake in the distance, “did you ever wonder why I attacked Gold?”

Emma shook her head.

“It was because of the shawl,” he said. 

She furrowed her brow, not making the connection.

“I was in love once before,” he went on, “to a woman named Milah…”

He went on, telling her the whole tragic tale about falling in love with Robert Gold’s wife, about the shop keeper’s rage, about Milah’s death. “And I wanted him to suffer as I suffered, as Milah suffered. I wanted my vengeance. And then when I heard he’d placed her scarf, the item she made with her own hands, on display like a meaningless peace of merchandise, something within me snapped.”

She closed the little distance there was between them, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Oh, Killian. I’m so sorry.”

He was silent for a moment, looking out at the water, and then he shrugged, turning back to her. “Aye, it was a difficult time, but I tell you this not to garner your sympathies, but to explain something to you.”

“And what’s that?”

His eyes burned into her, and she could see every bit of emotion as it flitted through his face. What he was about to say was important, maybe the most important thing he’d ever said to her, and she held her breath as she waited for him to speak.

“I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else. That is until I met you.”

Emma let a single tear escape, and Killian reached up, cupping her cheek and catching it with his thumb. His eyes softened, a gentle grin covering his lips.

“Are….are you saying…?” Emma asked, her voice thick with emotion.

He nodded once. “Aye. I love you Emma Swan. I have for a long time, and I pray you give me the opportunity to continue loving you for decades to come.”

Emma’s heart stuttered and then slammed in her chest.

“You said yourself, you can tell when someone’s lying, love,” he continued. “Look at me now. Am I lying to you?”

She couldn’t have spoken if her life depended on it. Instead, she surged to her tip toes, brought his head down to her, and connected her lips to his.

He took her tender assault with a muffled “umph”, but then wrapped his arms around her, slanting his head to deepen the kiss. She threaded her fingers through his hair, her other arm snaking around his back as she opened for him and joined him kiss for kiss, caress for caress.

They continued for long moments, lips caressing, tongues tangling, breath mingling, the original need melting into something soft, gentle, tender. It would scare Emma if she let herself think about it too much. This wasn’t just a physical thing; this wasn’t just giving into the physical desires she’d felt for him for ages. This was her opening herself up, laying herself bare before him, giving him the power to break her heart.

But he wouldn’t. Emma could see that, could feel it in the soft lips against hers, in the gentle way he murmured her name as he pulled away, only to rest his forehead against her, in his hand in her hair, softly caressing her scalp. He was in this for the long haul. He’d be here with her for as long as she’d let him.

Forever, she decided as she pulled back only far enough to look into his eyes, to smile at the wonder he found there. She wanted forever with him.

“I…I think I love you too.”

His smile widened. He leaned down, kissed her softly once more and then pulled back. “That’s music to this old pirate’s ears. What say we return to the ball?”

Emma took his hand, threading her fingers with his as they began walking toward town hall where the masquerade ball was well underway. “Uh, sorry,” she said sheepishly, “for, you know, kneeing you earlier.”

He grinned, mischief lighting up his eyes. “Perhaps I’ll need you to kiss it and make it better,” he said with an exaggerated waggle of his eyes.

She laughed, smacking him playfully with his free hand. “You are an idiot, you know that?”

He smiled, catching the hand that had slapped him and bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “Aye, but I’m your idiot, now and always.”


	7. Chapter 7

**CS Genre: Rival bakers/enemies to lovers/online dating au**

_Note: This story was first published as part of my Fluffy Fridays series_

_6 months later_

Killian looked across the small, red and white checked table at his girlfriend. His heart turned over, overwhelmed with love and gratitude that he’d had six incredible months with this woman. He could no longer envision his life without her in it, and he didn’t want to.

It had been the best half year of his life.

Not that things were always perfect. They were human after all. They had their disagreements and fights. They had their flaws. They each had quirks that drove the other crazy.

But none of that mattered. Not in the grand scheme of things. The happy moments, the moments of joy and passion, the moments of comfort and friendly companionship far outweighed everything else.

A day without seeing Emma felt like a wasted day.

And so, he’d taken her to the little, upscale Italian restaurant on the edge of town to celebrate their anniversary.

“What?” she asked with a grin, bringing him out of his reveries.

He smiled gently at her, reaching across the table to link their fingers, needing to touch her, to be connected, even in this small way. “I was merely thinking about how much I love you, and how beautiful you look tonight.”

And she did. She wore a light pink, sleeveless, tea-length dress, and her hair was piled on top of her head in an elegant high pony tail. She was like the sun, so beautiful that he scarcely could look at her without being overwhelmed.

She colored delicately at his compliments, and gave the hand holding hers a slight squeeze. “Thanks. And you look…”

He gave her a cocky grin. “I know.”

She laughed, shaking her head at his antics. He hoped he would still be able to make her laugh like that when they were old and gray.

“So, shall I order us drinks?” he asked.

“No,” she said, grinning and looking down bashfully.

Killian leaned back in his seat and gave her the smoldering look he knew would lead to far more enjoyable activities were then not in a public place. “What, Swan, are you afraid you’d find me even more irresistible after a few libations?”

She laughed. “No, I just wanted to stay clear headed tonight.”

He cocked his head, sobering. There was definite nervousness in her voice. “Is something the matter, love?”

Emma took a deep breath and then shot him another smile. “As a matter of fact there is.”

“Aye, and what might the problem be?”

“The problem,” she said, smoothing her thumb over his hand, “is that six months ago we made a bet. Loser of the baking contest had to fulfill the winner’s terms.”

“Aye, so we did,” Killian said with a smile. “And if I recall correctly, you provided me with the kiss I asked…about a thousand times over, if not more.”

“True,” she said, “and if you play your cards right, there will be about a million more repeats over the next six or seven decades.”

“Brilliant,” he said, “so what’s the problem?”

“The problem,” Emma said, mock seriousness in her voice, “is that we _tied_ in that contest, and you’ve yet to fulfill _my_ terms.”

“True,” Killian agreed with a nod, “but I can’t very well be blamed, as you’ve as yet failed to set terms.”

“Well,” Emma said, the nerves rising up once again in her voice, “I finally know what I want those terms to be.”

“Aye? Let’s hear them.”

She took a deep breath, looking down for a moment before meeting his eyes. “As the penalty for not winning the contest”, she said, “I want you to marry me.”

Killian’s heart stuttered and then raced. Had he heard her correctly? Had she just…?

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask you that,” he said with a grin.

She laughed nervously. “Figures you’d be old fashioned. You like to dress up like a 300 year old pirate, after all.”

He laughed, and then brought their joined hands to his lips, tenderly kissing the back of her hand, never breaking eye contact with her. “Emma Swan, I will happily, eagerly accept your terms.”

The smile that broke across her face was like the sunrise. She leaned across the table and kissed him long and hard, her free hand coming up to cup the back of his head. They broke free for a moment, resting foreheads against each other, and then Killian drew her back for a second kiss, unable to help himself.

The world fell away when they kissed like this. No one, nothing else existed but him and her and this cocoon of true love they’d built for themselves. It didn’t matter how many times he kissed Emma, every time felt fresh, new, like all in his life was finally in perfect alignment.

They broke apart when a stuffy waiter, dressed in a tuxedo and tails tutted disapprovingly. “Would sir and madam like to order tonight?”

Killian laughed. “I think we might need another moment. You see my incredible girlfriend just proposed to me and we’re deliriously happy.”

“Congratulations,” the waiter said, dead pan. “Do hail me when you’ve had a chance to look over the menu.”

With a stiff, formal bow, the waiter departed, and Killian laughed again, turning back toward his girlfriend, (no, _fiancée!_ ) But when his eyes met hers the laugh died on his lips. She was no longer smiling, no longer looking like a euphoric newly-engaged woman. She looked troubled.

Had she changed her mind already?

“Swan, what’s the matter?” he asked, reaching over so both hands held hers.

“Killian,” she said, “this is what you want, right? I didn’t meant to, I don’t know, _pressure_ you or anything. Don’t feel like I’m telling you you _have_ to marry me because of our stupid bet. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. If this isn’t what you want…”

He cut her off with a long, hearty laugh, loud enough to make the people at the table next to them shoot him a startled look. “Not what I want?” he said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “Swan you must be jesting. I love you more than anything in this world, and I’m fairly certain I’ve wanted to marry you since the moment you pulled your gun on me back in Gold’s shop all those months ago. I’d have proposed right away if I thought you’d have me. I’ve only held back because I wanted to make sure it was what _you_ wanted.”

She surged across the table and gave him another long kiss, before taking her seat. “I love you too,” she said finally, a single tear making its way down her cheek. “And I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.”

“With that,” Killian said, “we are in complete accord.”

They kissed again, this one slower, softer, more tender. When Killian pulled away, he smiled gently at her. He was fairly certain, after this night, the smile wouldn’t leave his face for at least a week.

“Now that that’s settled,” he said, “perhaps we’d best peruse these menus before our waiter tosses us out of this fine establishment.”

She laughed, picking up her menu.

“Sounds good,” Emma said. “We’ll order, and then over dinner we can debate whether to serve my Elegant Dutch Apple Pie or your Apple Harvest Cake at our wedding reception.”

_The End!_

***~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

**Emma’s (i.e. my Aunt Linda’s) Elegant Dutch Apple Pie**

1 (8 inch) unbaked pie shell ½ cup flour

¾ cup of sugar ½ stick of butter

3 cups sliced tart apples, peeled 6 tbsp sugar

½ tsp cinnamon

Combine ¾ cup sugar, apples and cinnamon. Place over low heat in a heavy pan. When juice forms, increase heat to moderate and cook, stirring occasionally, until the fruit is about half done. Set aside to cool. Meanwhile, place the pie shell in an 8 in. pie plate and crimp the edges as desired. Pour cooked fruit into the shell. Combine flour, butter and 6 tbsp of sugar and sprinkle over the apples. Bake @375 degrees for 45 minutes until fruit is tender and pie shell is lightly browned.

**Killian’s (i.e. my grandma’s) Apple Harvest Cake**

1 ¼ cups oil 1 tsp baking soda

2 cups sugar 3 cups flour

3 eggs 3 cups apples, peeled and chopped

1 tsp salt 1 cup walnuts, chopped

Beat oil, sugar and eggs. Ad rest of ingredients and mix well. Dough will be very stiff. Pour into a well-greased angel food cake pan or bundt pan. Bake @ 300 degrees for 1 ½ hours.

Topping:

1 cup brown sugar ¼ cup sweetened condensed milk

½ cup butter 1 tsp vanilla

Cook on low heat until full boil, stirring continuously. Cool and then beat until almost stiff. Pour over warm cake.


End file.
